pg 12

On Sundays, Tom would walk at Eleanor’s pace to the Kloskee Park and find a bench. He’d drape his arm over her shoulder and enjoy watching people go about their days as she poured over a book opened at her lap.

Had he really been at this park a few weeks back, begging for his wife’s health? No. It must have been a terrible dream. The edges of that memory were frayed like an old photograph. It faded with each day. This moment with his wife though-that was real. Their happiness was real.

That was all that mattered to Tom.

Eleanor went into labor early on June 7th. The nurses doted on her with warm cloths and words of encouragement. Tom was dizzy with nervous energy though he need not have worried. His baby girl was born without a hitch and she was beautiful. His wife was more radiant than a daisy in the sun. Only a mother could look that way after such a taxing experience. He loved her even more.

Thomas Trickett came to the United States in his teens with no money to his name and no idea if life held anything special for him. It took him a long time to find his place. It was worth the wait.

What would he have thought back then, when he first set foot on U.S. soil, if someone told him he was destined to have a beautiful wife and a gorgeous, healthy child?

He would have laughed. He laughed then, in the delivery room with his wife holding their child. Eleanor smiled as the baby’s cries softened.

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